Six Words Is All It Takes
by Captain Tomate
Summary: Some of the saddest stories can be told in only six words...[Drabble collection—All inspired by sad six-word stories—Rated for possible sensitive material later]
1. Drabble One - Changed Lock

_**Six Words Is All It Takes**_

 _ **Drabble One - Changed Lock**_

* * *

It was raining heavily. The droplets of falling water illuminated by shining headlights as a black car drove through the rain. Inside the car, the radio was blaring music; drowning out the rain, the rumbling sound of the engine, everything.

Gilbert's red eyes were transfixed on the road, hands holding onto the wheels so tight his already pale knuckles were as white as a fresh sheet of paper.

Ahead, through all the rain and dark of night, the albino man saw the familiar, looming silhouette of Roderich's house. His heart beat out of his chest as he slowly pulled into the drive, wheels slotting themselves into the worn tire-tracks that he had left on many other visits.

Unbuckling, Gilbert took out the bundle from the passenger side of his car; sliding out of his own seat and into the rain. He walked up the steps, already soaked - although he was only in the rain for five minutes.

He took out a shining pair of silver keys, placing them inside of the keyhole...

They didn't fit.

Placing his head on the door, Gilbert allowed himself to cry...

A bouquet of fresh roses falling from his grasp and to the rough wooden porch as he did so.

 _Brought roses home. Keys didn't fit..._

* * *

 ** _{A/N}_**

 **A series of drabbles inspired by sad six-worded stories; may be updated regularly - I'm not so sure...**

 ** _Danke,_** **for reading dears; _Auf Wiedersehen!_**

* * *

 ** _~I, A Broken Imagi-NATION, do not claim ownership of the amazing anime; Hetalia : Axis Powers~_**


	2. Drabble Two - Delete

_**Six Words Is All It Takes**_

 _ **Drabble Two - Delete**_

* * *

Amelia knew that they had never had a fight so bad before; the shouts, the cries, the screaming.

Tears streamed down the young woman's face as she stormed from the house; "Where do you think you're going, Amelia?!" a once loving voice yelled, tainted with anger and hatred.

Whipping her head around, the young American glared; sapphire blue clashing with emerald green, "I'm going to my _dad's_ house, Alice! I'm tired of your constant bossy attitude! I just..." Amelia lost some of her fire, turning away from the house she had loved once, "I just need some space..."

Alice did not say anything; all Amelia heard was the sound of a shutting door, and - if she strained her hearing hard enough - she was sure she would hear the sound of all three locks being turned into the locked position.

The young woman trudged to her truck, flipping out her keys and hopping into the driver's seat. Shoving the keys into the ignition, Amelia was slightly calmed as the familiar sound of country music filtered through the speakers.

Backing up and out of the driveway, Amelia started to drive towards the nearest airport. Her phone started to ring as she was halfway there, glancing down at the device, Amelia saw a very familiar name - _Alice._

Sighing, Amelia pulled over and picked up her phone; ridding herself of the unwanted call, she pressed a button.

"Siri?"

"What may I help you with?" came the automated response.

More tears gathered in Amelia's eyes, she gripped her phone tighter. Lips trembling, she gave the command - though it was barely a whisper.

" _Delete mom from my contacts...please..._ "

* * *

 _ **{A/N}**_

 **I tried to make it seem like Amelia and Alice were lovers - I don't ship USUK - but then I gave away their real roles! (Amelia's dad is Francis, by the way)**

 ** _Danke,_** **for reading dears;** ** _Auf Wiedersehen!_**

* * *

 ** _~I, A Broken Imagi-NATION, do not claim ownership of the amazing anime; Hetalia : Axis Powers~_**


	3. Drabble Three - Bottle-fed

_**Six Words Is All It Takes**_

 _ **Drabble Three - Bottle-fed**_

* * *

It was late at night; the world was quiet and still, peacefully calming and - overall - in the most beautiful time of day.

The cries of an infant broke through the dream-world that Antonio was currently situated in. Opening an eye, then the other, Antonio yawned; stretching his arms, he sat up, then rubbed his eyes, the crib beside his bed once again gave the sound of crying.

"I'm coming, Lovi..." Antonio muttered, standing and picking up his little boy from the crib. Little Lovino looked so much like his mother it was almost scary, the only thing he had gotten from his father being the more prominent green tint to his hazel eyes.

Walking to the kitchen with his son on his hip, Antonio opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of pre-made baby formula; silently, Antonio thanked his cousin - Francis - who had shown him how to make the concoction in the first place. The Spaniard was sure if the blonde hadn't, he would be totally lost while doing it.

He put the bottle in the microwave, setting the correct time to make it warm, but not to hot; giving Lovino little bounces, Antonio started to walk around the kitchen, swaying this way and that.

The microwave gave a loud alarm, saying it was finished with Lovino's formula. Antonio took the bottle out and checked the temperature; perfect. Placing the bottle into his son's mouth, Antonio hummed as Lovino ate; the Spaniard's mind went back to the years of his childhood, the days spent visiting the home of his father's friend with his brother, of the younger children the man had, and a certain little girl who grew into a beautiful woman...

And his wife.

Bambi had been the light of his life; she was sharp-tongued and foul-tempered, yes, but she was an awfully sweet woman under her shield of thorns. Antonio felt something wet roll down his face; _tears_.

Memories of the woman who held his heart always brought them...

Wiping his face to the best of his ability, Antonio took the bottle from Lovino as the little boy finished; big hazel eyes looked at him, somehow - even at this age - little Lovi looked annoyed that his papa had taken the bottle from him.

Yes, Lovino was just like his mother...

To bad the boy would never meet her.

 _He bottle-feeds his wife's killer..._

* * *

 ** _{A/N}_**

 **Yes, here, Lovino is Antonio's son; but there is still SpaMano~**

 **Bambi is the name I like to use for Nyo!Romano; I read one fic where this name was used, and just fell in love with it~**

 ** _Danke,_** **for reading dears; _Auf Wiedersehen!_**

* * *

 ** _~I, A Broken Imagi-NATION, do not claim ownership of the amazing anime; Hetalia : Axis Powers~_**

* * *

 **Replies :**

 ** _[Something new I'm doing for Guest reviews; skip past this if you didn't leave one~!]_**

 **Amy \- Oh, I have a six-word story for that! I'll do that~!**

 **2lazy2login** **-** **Of course! I'll always take suggestions~ I'll fit a grown Romano here, somewhere; goodness knows he could make a good drabble...**


	4. Drabble Four - Never Noticed

_**Six Words Is All It Takes**_

 _ **Drabble Four - Never Noticed...**_

* * *

 _"Those lovely violet eyes had captured him at first glance; they were like warm pools of starlit water, the inky purple of a fading sun reaching down from the heavens and painting itself upon the calm waters."_

With a sigh, Gilbert places his battered black-and-white pencil into his mouth; feeling like a teenage girl. He hears footsteps, and - raising his head - he sees the one who had had been writing meaningless poetry-stories about. The young, blonde man smiles, placing down the stacks of library books he holds; Gilbert slams his notebook closed, hiding his burning-red face as he takes the first book and runs it on a scanner.

Still smiling oh-so sweetly, the man that had caught the albino's eye hands Gilbert the glossy library card he owns.

That had been how the silver-headed man had found out the blonde's name in the first place; _Matthew Williams._ A lovely name for a lovely man; Gilbert supposed.

Williams had been coming to the _Bücher der Welt -_ a family-owned supposed library - for some time now; although the shelves were crammed with dusty and tearing books with coffee-stains on almost every page, as well as some that had pen marks on every other. Still, the charming man came every week; book bag slung over his shoulder, laptop under his arm, and his ear-buds loosely dangling from his neck.

Although it would seem strange to most - especially to Williams, himself - Gilbert had fallen into a long bout of puppy love as soon as he had seen the blonde's wonderfully gleaming eyes; somehow the Canadian - if the bright red 'Team Eh' sweatshirt, with a huge white maple leaf in the center, was anything to go by - stole the Prussian's heart with a single glance. Then, the puppy-love developed into a small crush, soon turning into a crush of high school girl proportions.

Gilbert was sure that Matthew was the only one who could make him feel so bubbly and silly; like he was floating on air. The albino had asked his Vatti about these feelings; the older man had responded with a simple grumble of 'love at first sight.' (Something, Gilbert was sure, that Uncle Romulus had said...)

On the last book, red eyes looked at the smoother, newer dust-jacket of the book. He felt his heart leap into his throat; the title read something Gilbert wished he could do one day.

 _'How to Admit Your Love'_

A pale hand grabbed the book, taking it from Gilbert's grasp. Williams' cheeks were stained pink as he clutched the book to his chest; "Sorry, that's mine..." he muttered. Mutely nodding, Gilbert looked to the other books; with a mind trained to know almost every single book inside the library since childhood, the Prussian saw that each book was a romance novel - mystery, fantasy, sci-fi, comedy; _each and every one._

His world felt slower...

Gilbert handed Matthew the books with a sad smile; though he attempted to mask the sadness. Luckily, Matthew didn't seem to notice the albino's apparent pain; taking the books, he said a polite 'thank you' and left. Scarlet eyes watched him as he 'accidently' bumped into a young lady with blue eyes and long blonde hair; the woman growled, and Matthew shyly apologized - his cheeks tinted pink.

Feeling tears gather in his eyes, Gilbert gazed down at the desk; grabbing a pen and squeezing it in his grasp. He wanted to feel it snap...he wanted Matthew...

Flipping open his notebook; the albino hovered his pen over the page he had written just today. Each word was harshly crossed out with the black ink; the other written pages also being stained with the pen's markings.

Gilbert went to the next blank page.

The mute author wrote his final story in the book...

 _I met my soulmate...He didn't._

* * *

 ** _{A/N}_**

 **As suggested by Guest Reviewer : Amy!**

 **This came out...so...long XP But, I like writing both of the precious, _precious_ German brothers as sensitive guys...They're adorable like that, okay? Okay. (It also doesn't seem all that sad, either...meh, I tried)**

 **Also, the girl Mattie was talking to was the _lovely_ Natalia/Belarus! Don't judge me, I ship what I want too!**

 **Anyway~! _Danke,_** **for reading dears; _Auf Wiedersehen!_**

* * *

 ** _~I, A Broken Imagi-NATION, do not claim ownership of the amazing anime; Hetalia : Axis Powers~_**

* * *

 **Guest Replies :**

 **Guest (1)** **\- Oh, yay~!**

 **Guest (2) \- This collection is only angst; but I may make a humorous collection, so I might use that!**


	5. Drabble Five - The Want To Fly

**Warning : Mention to homelessness.**

* * *

 **A/N : Long time no see,** ** _oui_** **? Have you guys missed my constant attacks on your feels? I bet you did, but now I'm back! It only took a full...almost six months. Wow. I (being the heartless person I am. Joking, joking...) don't think this one is** ** _to_** **sad, but I'm getting back into the rhythm of these!**

 **Also, the Six Word Story doesn't really fit this, unless you really connect it...**

 _ **(There is a bonus feels-causer reference in this one, just a heads up!)**_

 **I hope I can manage to break some of your feels...I-I mean, I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

It was the Field, the same one from the day before, and even the day before that. (Really, he was sure all of the fields he dreamed of were the same one.) There were tall grasses, rustling in the wind, but no trees to obscure his view of the sun. Flowers—sky blue flowers with five silky petals each—poked their heads out from some of the shorter patches of grass. He loved to run his fingers across their petals.

Alfred smiled, stuffing his hands into his dad's old bomber jacket and tilting his head towards the warm shafts of light given by the giant glowing ball hanging in the sky. He loved the feeling; the glow—it seemed so rare to him, sometimes. It amazed him to hear about the dozens, the thousands, the _millions_ of glowing balls of light in the universe, just...floating there.

He wanted to touch them, stroke them lovingly like the little flowers that littered the ground below his feet. Of course, Alfred knew that was a silly thing to wish for—older people told him that all the time; even if he could somehow survive the cold grip of space, he would burn into a crisp before his fingers could even come close to the stars that twinkled above him.

Still, he could dream, couldn't he?

Blue eyes screwed shut, Alfred reached out a hand...He wanted to touch the sky; he wanted to stroke it.

He wanted to _fly_...

* * *

"Oi, wake up boy."

Alfred's eyes opened, he lifted his head up and blinked at the person who had woke him up. Arthur, the American boy's caretaker, frowned down at him; the Brit's hair was more disheveled than ever, dark circles hanging stubbornly under his eyes—he had worked late again. The blonde boy squirmed in his bed, rolling around onto his stomach to make sitting up in bed easier, clinging to the dirty plush bunny in his grip; the motel bed's mattress gave a soft groan underneath him, but he didn't really care.

Arthur kneeled down to Alfred's level as soon as Alfred sat cross-legged on the large bed, dabbing at the boy's face with a damp towel to get the stray dirt streaks off of his soft cheeks. A small shiver went down Alfred's spine as he heard the cockroaches scurry around the corner and in the walls—or, were those rats? He really couldn't tell, but the sound grossed him out all the same.

"We have Church today. I cleaned your other pair of clothes for today, your Uncle Davie said he would clean these dirty old things while we were out." Arthur tugged on the collar of Alfred's patched-up shirt; it was a little too small for the growing boy, made of blue fabric and displaying a babyish picture of a rocket ship amongst the stars.

"Alright Artie!" the boy smiled, reaching up two dirty arms for his older brother to clean; Arthur got right on it, and Alfred closed his eyes again.

He wanted to fly. He wanted to be Artie's hero and fly them away from the motel rooms and the beat-up old van they slept in sometimes.

Arthur suddenly picked Alfred up; the American rested his little head on the Brit's shoulder. One day, he was going to fly Arthur to that field in his dreams, away from their nomadic life, and no one could tell him otherwise.

 _Dreaming of wonderlands. Waking to wastelands._


	6. Drabble Six - Bereavement

**A/N : Look up the flowers' meanings for ultimate feels, if you're brave enough.**

* * *

He had always thought she was the prettiest girl in the whole school, both inside and out. After all, with her shiny blonde hair and gentle disposition, how could he not? She always gave him a sweet smile when she passed by his desk in World History or as he passed her during lunch; she always volunteered to be his lab partner when no one else would; she was always there for him, and he tried to be there for her in return, even if he wasn't sturdy enough to be her shoulder to cry on some days.

Though, whenever those beautiful aquamarine eyes filled with tears, he ran his fingers through her shoulder-length hair, murmuring about how pretty it was under his breath as he took the strands into his grasp and braided them skillfully. Her hair was one of the things he loved; it was always smooth and silky, running through his fingers like strands of gold—it was one of the only things he could compliment her on without struggle.

Despite how much he held her in high regard, he really didn't know when he began to think of her more than just a friend; when his palms began to sweat whenever she smiled or when his stomach began to churn when she brushed his hand or even when he began to get tongue-tied when she leaned against him for support.

People began to whisper about them at school; commenting on his lovesick-puppy look when she passed his locker, the way he held the door open for her at the cafeteria, even the way he leaned in and helped her with a math problem she struggled with. Their peers said they were the cutest couple in school; that they would marry when they got older; that their love was a fairytale.

Although, Raivis was starting to think it was more Romeo and Juliet than any story with a happy ending.

* * *

It was raining; it was always raining. Raivis had grown to hate the rain—it had used to be his favorite weather, the time when two young lovers could cuddle in front of a fireplace and share hot cocoa kisses. Yes, call him a hopeless romantic who has read to many cheesy teenage love novels; it's what he had associated with the rain since...well, forever.

The young man bent down, placing down a full bouquet of fresh forget-me-nots and larkspur and Adonis and a single mourning bride. Erika had always told him how much she loved the language of flowers; she had wanted to be a botanist, she had told him one day in the library, she would sell the perfect bouquets to people and tell them the flowers spoke for them.

Droplets cascaded onto the petals as the wrapped-up flowers began to sink into the muck, and Raivis felt some run from his eyes and down his face. He fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he began to wail, leaning his head against the gravestone of a girl who had died to young.

"Here lies Erika Vogel. A sister; A friend; An angel among mortals who has now returned to His virtuous kingdom."

 _Finally confessed to her. Left flowers._


	7. Drabble Seven - Sickness of the Mind

**_A/N_** **: Another one that's longer than usual, but you guys don't mind...Right? Hopefully. M'kay, I _really_ had to make this longer than usual; the main angst-y topic that is covered has actually affected my family, and I know had heart-wrenching it can be. Hopefully the end isn't to rushed, but I couldn't think of how to properly transition into the six word story.**

 **Alright, that's all for me. All of you guys have a lovely day, stay awesome and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _'5B, 6B, 7B...'_

Hollow footsteps echoed down the hallway as Feliciano silently mouthed the room numbers to himself, trying to find the one he had committed to memory. The flowers that drooped in his hand felt like weights, making him drag his feet with reluctance. He really didn't want to see _him_ again, the smiling man who had stolen the face of the Italian's grandfather.

Slow steps froze as they stopped outside the white door, the gleaming golden letters blaring out at Feliciano like screeching vehicle sirens. Room 10B. The room that his 'grandfather' was living in. Feliciano raised his unoccupied hand to the door's glossy wooden surface: His hand was a trembling fist, like he was afraid of what was behind the door. Really, his fear was justified—his grandfather's condition shifted each and every day, there was truly no telling if he was having a good or bad day.

Swallowing his anxiety, the young Italian man let out a sigh through his nose and knocked. Footsteps came from inside the room, before the door was opened by Romulus' usual nurse—a young woman with long brown hair and green eyes—opened the door. She smiled gently as he looked at Feliciano, opening the door wider and allowing the man to walk in. "Good news, Feli," she said with that same soft smile, "Romulus is having a good day today, no troubles."

A relieved smile spread across Feliciano's own lips, "That's good, Elizaveta." he murmured. He felt tired, unwilling to deal with anything other than his Grandfather. Luckily enough he didn't have to. "Is he in bed still?"

"Yep, feel free to talk to him for as long as you like." Elizaveta kept the door open with her hip, grabbing her overcoat to cover her sea foam green scrubs as she spoke. "I'm on break right now, but if he suddenly becomes unstable you know what to do." Flashing the slightly younger man a blinding smile, the Hungarian nurse slipped out, letting the door shut behind her with a _click_ that resounded loudly in the room.

Almost instantly a familiar voice called out to him, "Is that who I think it is?" Romulus sounded jubilant.

Pasting his regular fake smile onto his face, Feliciano walked deeper into the room, until his Grandfather came into view. Romulus' bed was right by the window, providing the man with a view of the outside world: Feliciano was glad to see that the older man wasn't trying to claw his way out of bed and was just simply looking out of the window, his smile content and carefree.

"Hi, Grandpa." the younger Italian greeted, walking to his Grandfather's bedside and pulling up one of the plastic chairs that was pressed against the wall. "I got these for you, hope you like them." Placing the bouquet of lilies and forget-me-nots on Romulus' bed, Feliciano kept his smile.

Romulus smiled back as he picked up the flowers and examined the bright colors of the petals, "Thank you, Feli." he said, placing them back down, "How have you been? And how are Lovino and Angelo? I haven't heard from them in a while."

"I'm doing fine. Work's been great and Ludwig got a position as a PE teacher last week." Feliciano stated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Angelo's been a bit stressed out about middle school, but he's been okay so far—all A's."

A nod came from Romulus, "As to be expected. The boy's a bright one."

"He really is—keeping up with his Honors classes takes a lot out of him though." the younger man continued, "As for Lovino, he's...I guess he's okay. The bills have been getting to him and his work had a change of management—lots of people are being laid off, no one knows who's the next person the leave. He really wanted to come today, but he had let his paperwork pile up while he was out with his friends on the weekend."

Feliciano refused to let his face form into his 'lying wince' expression. It was widely known amongst everyone who knew the young man that he was an awful liar, but Romulus didn't need to know what had really been going on with Lovino's job because of he couldn't hold his tongue. The truth was that Feliciano had found Lovino sobbing in his bedroom earlier in the day, over what appeared to be a pink slip, and had ultimately decided that Lovino seeing their Grandfather this week wasn't the best idea.

Romulus' smile finally fell into a worried frown, "That's horrible." he said, not seeing Feliciano's face twitch and simply sitting up more in his bed, "As soon as I'm better I'll get back to work—Lovino's to young to be going through something like this. You all are."

"Yeah, it is bad." Feliciano murmured, looking at his Grandfather with sad eyes, "but you can't do anything about it, Grandpa, you're... _condition_ isn't just a common flu. You'd forget your job, or have an episode, or something." Feliciano's hands desperately grasped at the blue comforter of Romulus' bed, his knuckles turning white as he clutched them. He didn't want to say that, but it was the truth—something he said had to be truthful.

Ignoring the facts, Romulus waved his hand nonchalantly, "Feli, you know it's not true. They just labeled me with the wrong condition." he chuckled, "really, I'd never thought it would keep me here for so long, it was just a little memory loss—just stress getting to me. Really, I'm surprised Lovi hasn't experienced it either: The poor boy works so hard."

Feliciano wanted to drop his smile. He wanted to scream at the dense old man: No, it was not _just a little memory loss_. Really, the brunette had said that the first few times he had visited, trying to explain what was truly happening inside his old man's head, but Romulus was nothing if not a bull-headed, proud, Italian old man who didn't except anything beside what he thought as the truth.

So, Feli kept that forced smile. He hastily agreed with a small chuckle, telling Romulus that he would let Elizaveta know that the doctors had made a mistake, petting the older man's hand before standing up. "I have to go now, Grandpa," he said, leaning over to kiss Romulus on both cheeks, "but I'll be back, same time next week."

Yes, he'd be back next week, Feliciano convinced himself as he walked out the door, he's always be back—it didn't matter if Romulus wasn't himself or if Romulus _was_ himself, Feliciano would always come back, despite the pain and the frustration of being forgotten week after week and having to repeat the important events from the last week, and...and...having to hear _that_ over and over.

 _"I'm faking Alzheimer's." Grandpa said. Again._


End file.
